Unpretenders

Excerpt: ''Perhaps Anne--' suggested Michael. 'Why, yes-certainly, Anne,' seconded Doromea, eagerly. 'Of course Timothy's our friend, but Anne knows that we have just this last chapter and-all we need do is to ask her.' 'Um-m. What is she doing?' 'She was trimming a hat on the west porch a few minutes ago.' 'Trimming a hat? Why, she never has one on her head!' Anne's husband looked at his unfinished manuscript aggrieved. 'I think it was Gladys-Marie's hat.' Doromea struggled back of plot to remember. 'It had a look{10} of Gladys-Marie-an incoherent sort of cloche, you know, that was meant to have been a sunbonnet.' Michael laughed. 'If you weren't my sister I should be afraid of you,' he said, looking at her admiringly. 'You see too deep-even in hats.' 'But I cannot trim them,' answered Doromea, seriously. 'Anne can-she can make the most delicious hat out of an old square of lace or something. I can't even tack a plume in place and have it look like anything but a curled poker.' 'You can only help write books,' smiled Michael, 'and this one'-he smoothed the thick pile of closely written paper-'is the best you've ever helped to write. Er-suppose we just go and speak to Anne.''